


Better Than Even

by vieralynn (sarasa_cat)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Dates, Awkwardness, Double Dating, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasa_cat/pseuds/vieralynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline has long suspected that Knight Captain Cullen and Marian Hawke are interested in each other, but Cullen is too shy to do anything. And Hawke? People don't just <i>call</i> her Hawkward Hawke, she wears that nickname with pride. </p><p>So Aveline sets them up on a date. Donnic approves. (Isabela and Merrill come along for the ride.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Even

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this DA Kinkmeme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10749.html?thread=42912253#t42912253): 
> 
> Cullen/Hawke - a very Hawkward date
> 
> Cullen blushes when people mention the blooming rose. Hawke is quintessentially Hawkward. OP wants to see these two hanging out after hours, smitten, bumbling, and awkward.
> 
> Bonus points if they make Aveline look smooth in her attempt to hook up with Donnic. Extra bonus if Hawke's companions are watching all of hawkwardness unfold. Big bonuses if Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill comment on all of the Hawkwardness.
> 
> Female or Male Hawke, custom or default. Preference for mage Hawke for extra awkwardness on Cullen's part, but any Hawkward Hawke is welcome.

Hawke’s limbs had a habit of pointing in unexpected directions while attached to a body propelled by endless energy. She stood with her shoulders at a theatrical tilt, boney chin jutting out to one side, all of it un-ironic. When the music started playing again, she lifted her hands into the air and made a vigorous attempt at snapping her fingers in time with every note the musicians played. Somewhere beneath that cacophony of enthusiasm one might have found the beat that laid down the rhythm.

“You need to _feel_ the music’s rhythm.” Isabela stressed the word _feel_ not just with her voice but with an elongated circling of her hips. 

“My mother used to tell me that too, but there are so many notes!”

“Think of it like making love?”

“Huh?”

“Or like walking with confidence across the deck of a ship as you sail the high seas.” 

In response to Isabela’s metaphoric suggestion, Hawke’s legs sprang into action, knees popping up above her waist, feet pounding on beer stained floorboards. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Her dance was sort of like running in place, and sort of like stamping out every last fire ant that had mistakenly marched beyond the safety of their ant mound.

“Oh, hun, I said _walk_ with confidence, not run. Try it like this: One. _Two_. Three. _Four_. One. _Two_. Three. _Four_.” The curve of Isabela’s hips left a series of seductive kisses against each beat.

Merrill twirled beneath a scarf that she held over her head. “Hawke is having fun,” she said.

More or less in time with a grace note, Hawke’s feet stilled and her fingers returned to their vigorous snapping. “What can I say? I have my own unique style.” 

Her head bobbed like a marionette’s as her shoulders jangled. All of her dancing made clear that every note the musicians played brimmed with life. Every single note was a damn good note. All of them. Every last one.

“That’s our Hawke,” Isabela said before slipping her arm around Merrill’s waist.

When Merrill offered Isabela her hand, the two of them cut smooth, elegant sweeps across the back of the bar, Merrill following Isabela’s lead.

Aveline leaned into Hawke’s bouncing shoulder. “No need to worry. I’ve never cared much for dancing either.”

But Hawke’s joyous open-mouthed grin and her flapping chicken bone elbows clearly conveyed her state of mind: when you don’t have a single damn to give, dancing is a helluva lot of fun. 

Donnic nudged Aveline as he pointed his thumb toward the door. “Guess who just arrived.”

Aveline grinned. “Remember when everyone thought _we_ were utterly hopeless?” 

The man standing just inside the door craned his neck as he chewed on his lower lip. Other than Donnic and Aveline, no one else interpreted the man’s behavior as anticipatory nervousness. To anyone else who might have noticed, Kirkwall’s Knight Captain searched the crowd within a popular bar. Presumably this templar meant business. 

.

.

Aveline had been responsible for making this date happen. Yes, a date. An actual date. 

In fact, it would be more accurate to call it a double date because Aveline and Donnic were there too. Although that double date unofficially grew into a triple date once Isabela found out and invited herself, and then Merrill tagged along. A triple date of socially awkward misfits, discounting Donnic. As for whether Isabela counted as a misfit of any kind depended on when and whether she felt that label could be spun for personal benefit.

But the rest of them? Forever business Aveline, fish out of water Merrill, bumbling shy Cullen, and couldn’t give a damn awkward Hawke. Or make that Hawkward Hawke.

Hawkward. 

Varric called her Hawkward once. Then the nickname stuck when Hawke’s laughter escalated in to loud snorts as she tried to make an obtuse joke about her new nickname.

Hawkward Hawke. The nickname didn’t just fit her, she wore it with pride. 

And now Hawkward was on a date. A real, honest-to-Maker date with a shyly awkward honest-to-the-Maker man. As far as Isabela was concerned, one just can’t make this shit up. Real life always trumps fiction, which was why Isabela insisted on inviting herself along.

So, it was Aveline, of all people, who had made this double (or triple) date happen. 

Just after lunchtime on the prior day, Aveline sat in her office, engaged in yet another weekly argument with Knight Captain Cullen.Their scheduled weekly arguments were always cordial —a ritual affair played by two equally ranked officers, rather than head-butting between actual antagonists. In fact, Aveline liked Cullen a good deal, and Cullen respected Aveline for all she had done. But in a city without a viscount, Aveline needed to hold her ground against templar incursions into civic affairs. Cullen’s position gave him enough headaches of his own, so once Aveline stated her case, Cullen softly acquiesced. Problem solved, week after week, all of it very civil.

On the particular afternoon in question, Aveline and Cullen engaged in a ritualized disagreement over the boundaries of templar jurisdiction when handling crimes that occurred on the waterways of Kirkwall’s harbor. That was when Hawke poked her head into Aveline’s office.

“Oh, Hawke. I’m busy right now. Come back later?” Aveline said.

“Champion.” Cullen nodded in greeting, voice soft, eyes alight.

“Oh, Cullen, you’re here too. Do the two of you need my help with anything?” Hawke asked.

“Well, actually, yes, we could—“

“No,” Aveline interrupted. As Aveline shooed Hawke away, she couldn’t help noticing how Cullen’s gaze lingered on the door, on that memory of where Hawke had just stood.

“I thought Meredith no longer allowed templars to contract help from outsiders,” Aveline said.

“She doesn’t… Although I see no reason for the Knight Commander to complain if the _Champion_ aids the city guard.” The man’s lips lingered over the word Champion, savoring each syllable as he spoke in his soft, slow drawl. The shy smile on his face bordered on angelic, if such a description could be applied to a tall, broad-chested man who served as a templar. 

As for what Aveline just witnessed, she had long suspected the Knight Captain’s feelings, but this time she asked him bluntly. “So, what do you think of Hawke?”

The man’s cheeks reddened as he looked away, gazing off toward the corner of Aveline’s office. “Hawke? Oh… I— I think she does a lot of good for the city’s people. She’s a rare type of woman.” 

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

Next, he either coughed as he laughed or he attempted to clear his throat. Either way, it provided an excuse for Cullen to hide his ever-widening smile. “The Champion is known for speaking her mind.”

“What are you doing tomorrow evening?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Tomorrow evening. For once, Donnic and I finally have the same evening off. We’re going to a bar beneath the Griffon Feather Inn. I hear they get good musicians. A Fereldan band is playing there all of this week.”

“Thank you for your invitation, but wouldn’t you and Donnic prefer to spend the evening alone?”

“Hawke will be there.”

“Really? Are you certain?”

“She’s the one who told me and Donnic about music at the Griffon Feather Inn.”

“You don’t think she’ll mind if I— if I also, uh, join the three of you?”

“I can’t see why not. I know she thinks well of you.”

“She does?”

“Nine tomorrow evening?”

“Uh, yes. Yes. Nine tomorrow.” 

During that brief lull in their ritualized weekly argument, Aveline admired the sweet fool’s grin that Cullen wore, a look she remembered seeing on Donnic some years ago. Small things like this warmed Aveline’s heart, and that was when she knew she had done well in inviting Cullen.

.

Some hours later, after dinner that night, Aveline mentioned this upcoming double date to Donnic. Her husband nearly choked on his coffee. 

“You what?”

“The Knight Captain appeared quite interested the moment I mentioned Hawke.”

Donnic snickered. “This isn’t your way of getting even after that ridiculous game Hawke played when hooking the two of us up?”

“My dearest Donnic, such a thought never entered my mind. I swear it.”

If the hairs on a cocked eyebrow could voice the word ‘bullshit,’ that was clearly what Donnic’s eyebrow said, although the twinkle in his eyes conveyed his wholehearted approval.

“Hawke and Cullen.” Donnic stroked his chin. “Odd, but I’m seeing it.”

“So am I.”

“Did you know that Fenris has mentioned them more than once.”

“Really? I’ve never heard him say anything.”

“Only happens during Tuesday night wicked grace. You know, men’s talk.” Donnic winked.

“Of course.”

“I bet you can’t guess the average number of times per Tuesday that Fenris complains about Hawke’s antics in the Gallow’s front courtyard?” 

“Knowing Fenris, I’d wager nothing less than three times each Tuesday night.”

Donnic looked down at his hands as he affected the elf’s mannerisms while huffing out his breath in exasperation. “Hawkedid it _again_. In the middle of the afternoon, she dragged us off to the Gallows just to pick a fight with _that_ templar. Or _pretend_ to.”

“You realize you only prove my point.” 

“I never said I disagree.”

“Then the matter is done. It’s a date.”

“I assume you will let Hawkward know before Cullen arrives?”

“Of course I will. And… to be honest, I worry for Hawke. Over the past four years I have watched her lose her sister, her brother, and her mother. The nobles declared her Champion and she becomes even more disconnected from those around her. I don’t think it’s healthy for her to rattle around in that mansion on her own. If nothing comes of her and Cullen, then it wasn’t meant to be, simple as that. No harm in providing an opportunity, whatever comes of it.”

“I’m sure you realize…” 

“I do. But Hawke has been declared Champion and everyone from the Free Marches to Orlais knows it. No templar wants the trouble of arresting her. Cullen has known what she is all along and he has never made a fuss of it.”

“I see your point.”

“Anyhow, can you imagine Hawke interested in anyone or anything that lacks the thrill of flouting the law?”

.

.

The good thing about a noisy bar with a packed crowd and live music is that the intensity of the sound curtails any opportunities for awkward gaps in conversation. 

Yet, no matter how loud the bar beneath the Griffon Feather Inn became, once Cullen stood beside Hawke, she talked incessantly. Only the Maker might have guessed half of what she said. Broken halla horns and bottles of rot gut. Something about a dented ring decorated with a fancy filigree, where one side of the ring opened so it could be used to hold poison. And yet another pair of torn trousers that Hawke found in an alley and sold for two copper. It didn’t matter that this woman owned fifty percent of a productive mine employing hundreds. She compulsively searched through discarded crates and rubbish because one never knew what treasures might be found, treasures like a pair of silk-lined pantalettes decorated with frills of Orlesian lace (and she promptly sold that to a Lowtown merchant who gave her a single copper coin). 

As the band played and Hawke chattered and jangled and snapped her fingers, Cullen couldn’t have caught more than a fifth of what she had said. But that didn’t matter. He leaned close to her, drinking in her Fereldan voice with his mug of ale.

And, whether or not Hawke noticed, Isabela picked up a faint hint of an eau de cologne that smelled absolutely delicious on the Knight Captain. 

Isabela also noticed how the poor man couldn’t figure out what to do with his arms. She read him like an open book. Lean one hand against the wall, just behind Hawke? Oh, no, that would make him look too forward, too much like he was trying to put his arm around her. Arms crossed? Nope, too closed off. Arms casually dangling at his sides? Well, Hawke kept  bumping into him as she jangled and snapped her fingers and gyrated her shoulders — her _shoulders —_ oh the poor sweet thing. Cullen nodded at everything she said while gnawing on his lower lip, cycling predictably between leaning against the wall, crossing his arms, and dropping his arms to his sides before leaning yet again. At least twice, Isabela saw Cullen’s knuckles bump against Hawke’s body and both times, the man’s cheeks flushed red. 

After the musicians finished playing and freshly poured drinks were in hand, the group descended around an empty table. The moment Cullen began to pull out a chair for Hawke, she had already grabbed the back of the same chair so she could seat herself. Its legs squealed in protest, not knowing which way to slide.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was going to sit here, but since you—”

“No, after you.”

“No, you went after it first. You take it.”

“Oh, I— I— but I wasn’t going to sit here.”

“You grabbed it first. Look, I can just sit over there.”

“Hawke, hon?” Isabela interrupted. “One of Kirkwall’s few polite boys just offered you a seat. And, assuming my sources are correct, he’s still available.”

Cullen’s hand shot to his side as if burned and flames of embarrassment painted his face three different shades of crimson. 

It took a good bit of shuffling of chairs, but once everyone had sat down, Isabela winked at Aveline, acknowledging their success in seating Cullen beside Hawke.

Merrill piped up first. “Those musicians were very good. So, Cullen, why didn’t the two of you dance together?” 

“Dance? You— you don’t mean—“ Cullen stuttered.

“You and Hawke. I thought dancing together was a standard courtship ritual among humans?”

Cullen nearly choked on ale he hadn’t yet sipped. After he caught his breath, he sputtered, “I— oh my. I— I’m not certain that I—  Oooooooooo.” 

Isabela slapped the man on the back. “Oh, sweet one, boys like you need to loosen up. Enjoy the one life you have been given.” 

Meanwhile Hawke frantically searched the many pockets in her jacket, pants, and shirt, checking most of them twice, some thrice, looking for something unknown to the others. Eventually she sighed in resignation and flopped herself back into her chair. “Last week I found a chantry amulet behind a crate near the docks. It is beautifully made and definitely official. When I held it, the amulet felt enchanted. It gave off a strong protective aura. Too bad I left it at home. I’d give it to you, Cullen. If you saw it, I’m sure you would like it.”

“Thanks— I mean, thanks for— uh— you know— for thinking of me.”

“Ooh! I remember that amulet!” Merrill cut in. “The craftsmanship was lovely. Hawke always finds interesting things. She gave me a really nice ring that she found, a very shiny pendent, and another ring that was designed to— oh, never mind. You probably don’t want to know about that one.”

Isabela knew about the ring Merrill spoke of, and decided to interrupt before the templar asked the wrong questions. “Hawke always comes across one thing or another,” Isabela said.

“I know where to look when others pass things by,” Hawke said.

“She’s put together entire sets of armor, all of the pieces were found and all in reasonably good repair,” Isabela said.

“Chest plates, boots, hats, even pantaloons.” 

Cullen coughed.

Hawke cheerfully whopped Cullen’s arm. “And you wouldn’t believe the some of the things I’ve found in the back rooms at the Blooming Rose!”

“I— No— I— I cannot imagine what you might have found.” Cullen mopped his brow before chugging down the last of his ale. 

Hawke draped an absentminded arm over the back of Cullen’s chair. “I’ll find that amulet and I promise to give it to you when I next visit the Gallows.”

“You know, it’s getting late,” Isabela interjected. “If the Knight Captain walks you home, you could give that amulet to him tonight.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Aveline said.

Cullen’s eyes darted around the table. “Well, I guess I could walk up to Hightown with Hawke, but then I’d need to walk all the way back down to the docks and, given how late it is, I— it can wait. I should probably just go back to the Gallows now.” 

Everyone else at the table might have believed Cullen if he had gotten up. Instead, he remained in his chair, hands on the table, fingers making a busied attempt at knitting themselves together.

Before Isabela could suggest the obvious, Hawke made a proposal of her own.“You’ve probably missed the last ferry. I can put you up for the night. Then you can help me look for that amulet.”

“Try looking behind Hawke’s bed,” Isabela said.

“Or in it,” Donnic muttered behind his hand.

Hawke’s eyes beamed. “You know, you guys are right. I think I left that amulet on the table beside my bed.”

“Problem solved.” Aveline stated.

“Yes, I’m certain that’s where I left it. Right inside the table’s front drawer.”

Cullen’s fingers quietly drummed the table as he looked into the mug that was now devoid of ale.

Hawke being Hawke, had made her decision, so now it was time to get on with what would come. She jabbed her boney elbow into Cullen’s ribs. “Are you coming with me?”

The man nodded his head a few times in order to force words onto his tongue. “I— Yes. Do you, uh, want to go now or—” 

Isabela feigned a humungous yawn. 

“We should probably leave too,” Aveline said.

“I’ll settle our tab.” Donnic got up and walked to the bar.

“We’re all going home so early?” Merrill asked.

“Yes, kitten, because the night is still young.”

“So, Cullen?” Merrill looked the Knight Captain in the eye. “Will you consider dancing with Hawke once you are in her house?”

“Oh, I’m— I’m terrible at dancing. Anyway, there won’t be any music to dance to.”

“You could always make your own music,” Isabela said.

Merrill’s eyes widened. “Really? Cullen, do you know how to play a musical instru— oh, wait, I get it!”

“Of course you do, kitten.”

Cullen turned redder than a beet, all the way down his neck. He looked down at his hands as he tried but failed to hide the smile that acknowledged a sentiment that hung in the air.

Meanwhile Hawke had ducked under the table, chasing after something small and shiny that had tumbled from one of her pockets.

Merrill leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands. “Sometimes I envy you humans. Among the Dalish, a man is hardly allowed to think about a woman until he has succeeded at his first ritual hunt and then the entire clan must approve of the match. The bickering can go on for days while the waiting couple is forced to remain apart on opposite ends of the camp, each of them shifting uncomfortably where they sit, waiting for the Keeper’s final verdict. Of course, the Keeper almost always says yes. I think this is mostly done to make sure the couple has enough time to consider any doubts. But not that anyone considers doubts when their mind has slipped down into their pants.”

“I— I assure you my intentions are completely honorable,” Cullen said.

“Of course they are,” Isabela replied.

That was when the table went _bump_ as Hawke whacked the back of her head on the oaken top’s underside. A muffled “Ow!” emanated from beneath the table followed by a “I dropped that ring I found in Darktown. But I found it. Ow— my head.”  

“Are you alright?” Cullen pushed his chair back and stooped down, ducking his head and shoulders beneath the table’s surface.

“A kiss usually makes things better,” Isabela obliged.

When the next few seconds passed in silence, everyone who remained seated at the table smugly nodded at each other, acknowledging a job well done. And when Cullen stood and shrugged, and Hawke scrambled to her feet, everyone wished them a good night.

“Well, I— I guess I’ll accompany Hawke home.” 

Again Isabela noticed that Cullen couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out where to put his hands.

Without missing a beat, Hawke slung an arm around Cullen’s back. “We should get going.”

Again, a chorus of voices wished them good night. 

“Um— Thanks for inviting me, Aveline.”

“My pleasure.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

.

After Hawke and Cullen had left, Aveline was the first to speak. “It seems odd saying this, but maybe it’s best for Hawke to date a templar.” 

“But weren’t you previously married to one?” Merrill asked.

“Yes, she was,” Donnic replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Merrill’s long fingers hid her eyes.

Isabela cocked her head while considering what she was about to say. “Beyond the obvious cliché of templars carrying a loadstone beneath their skirt that points at mages, tell me, big girl, why do you think it best for Hawke to have a relationship with a templar? This isn’t your way of imposing some law and order on her?”

“Whether or not you believe me, no, that is not my intent. I’ve known them both for long enough to notice their mutual interest.”

“And?”

“Well, if her dancing this evening serves as an indication of her performance in bed, at least the Knight Captain has a fighting chance if she accidentally sets the bedroom on fire.”

“You don’t _really_ think that will happen?” Merrill’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.

“We are speaking of Hawkward Hawke.” Aveline shrugged.

“Aw, give Hawke credit where credit is due,” Isabela said. “Anyhow, I’m certain she’ll corrupt that sweet young thing of a templar. She’ll ravage him as he’ll relishes every newfound sensation, and that will finally loosen himup. He looks like a smart boy so he’ll know what to do next. After all, Chantry boys dedicate themselves to service. He’ll melt her like butter. Tomorrow we’ll see the calmest and most satisfied Hawke that Kirkwall has ever known.”

“Either that or we’ll be called upon to extinguish a five alarm fire,” Donnic said without missing a beat.


End file.
